The Swear Box
by Roh
Summary: Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor are confused. Zaniness ensues. [awaiting rewrite]
1. The Swear Box

As ever, characters and stuff all property of Tolkien. 

-- I don't mean to make excuses, but this is what happened when I tried to write whilst over the legal limit of coffee and tuna sandwiches. Sad, eh? It's slightly… random? Yes, random. Isn't true to any story I've had the misfortune of stumbling across, so don't flame me for getting my facts wrong. Flame me for everything else if you wish. Man may make fire, but I sure as heck can't make a lighter work ¬.¬. -- 

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'Lord Elrond!' 

Elrond glanced lazily up at his door. The heavy thudding of someone running up the corridor told him he still had a good few seconds left of peace before some exhausted elf crashed through, announcing the end of Middle Earth. He sighed and returned to his work, slowly tracing letters onto new parchment; he was writing invitations to other 'important' elves. 

He had been itching to discuss the fate of Middle Earth for a good few decades, Alas; the other super-elves did not care much for Elrond's councils. Galadriel didn't need some little half-elf telling her about the future, not after she realised her magic mirror could tell her more than how she was faring in the Miss Middle Earth pageant. Celeborn… well, he just followed Galadriel around. Cirdan would send a postcard every century or so to tell him how the boats were, especially now he had installed an engine on one of them. The elves were flocking to the Grey Havens just to try out his aptly named 'Go Really Fast Boat'. The fact they kept getting lost in Valinor was of little significance. 

But recently, the idea of being able to say 'Doom' eighteen times over in the same sentence was appealing to Elrond more than ever. Much to the annoyance of all around him, his every other word for the past few weeks had been 'Doom'. 

So the Swear Box was born. Glorfindel had introduced Elrond to the Swear Box, a method used in Gondolin for whenever 'discovery' was mentioned, he had explained. Elrond was dubious it would work, he had not told Glorfindel just how much the fate of Middle Earth was playing on his mind. Even after surrendering twelve sacred trinkets to it he still found himself running into deserted rooms and screaming 'DOOM!' loud enough for the rest of Imladris to hear. Glorfindel would follow him in and wave the box beneath his nose. He had started to doubt the Noldorian elf's intentions. 

'L-Lord Elrond! Y-You must come quick!' On queue, the door burst open to reveal a young stable hand. Elrond went to the effort of looking up from the invitations; he looked over the elf critically, his eyebrows raised.

'You called?' He said nonchalantly, a polite smile formed on his lips. 

'M-my… Lo… Lord…'

'Perhaps you would like to catch your breath?' Elrond asked.

'Th…Than – thank you, M-m…' 

'_Before_ you thank me.' Elrond rolled his eyes and returned to his sheet of paper, trying to block out the other elf's desperate gasps for air.

He was writing an invitation to Thranduil. Lindir had assured him there was nothing wrong with lowering his standards just a little. Elrond had seen through Lindir before the words had even crossed his mind, but still, just because he listened to one of Lindir's plans didn't mean he had to promote him to anything special. Thranduil wasn't a bad elf, either… it was just…

__

'So then, Thranduil? What do you do in Mirkwood?' Galadriel said, sipping at a glass of water, her little finger sticking out sideways as she held the stem of the glass.

'We drink, Lady.' Thranduil said earnestly.

'You… drink?' Galadriel placed the glass back down, peering intently at the elf across from her.

'Y-yes, Lady. We drink. Wine.' He coughed, her gaze making him nervous.

'You do not discuss the end of the world?' Galadriel pondered.

'No, Lady.'

'You do not discuss the beginning of the world?'

'No, Lady.'

'Well, what do you discuss?' Galadriel seemed quite flustered, if that were possible for her.

'Drink. And, er, sparkly objects.' Thranduil turned a strange shade of red.

'Elbereth…' Galadriel whispered, taking another sip of her water. All her fingers clutched around the shaking glass.

'Lord Elrond! You must come to the stables! There has been an accident!' The previously breathless elf wailed, causing Elrond to startle. 

'An accident?' Elrond frowned, 'Is it that bad one of our healers cannot take care of it?' 

'Err… no, actually. But it's Glorfindel, he's in trouble!' The elf nodded encouragingly.

'Glorfindel?' Elrond perked up. It was shame to loose Glorfindel, he was a good elf, but when he went so would that Swear Box. He fought the cruel grin that battled for dominance over his expression.

'Yes Lord, Asfaloth, he is…' The elf said hurriedly. He wavered on edges of the Elrond's room and the corridor. 

'Well, what about Asfaloth?' Elrond asked, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands.

'Lord, he is - he is _killing_ Glorfindel!' The elf's voice was now higher than an elf-maidens. He hopped from one foot to another. Elrond watched the elf prance on his doorstep for a while, intrigued. Eventually the young elf snapped.

'LORD GLORFINDEL IS IN GRAVE DANGER!' With that sudden outburst the elf ran back down the hallway, leaving Elrond to stare wide-eyed with surprise at the wall.

'And so will you be…' He muttered the meaningless threat, then wondered why he said it. He continued to gaze at the wall, inadvertently scribbling across Thranduil's invite. After a while he broke his gaze and looked at the paper.

****

DOOM.

Glorfindel would have things to say about that. If he survived whatever ordeal was happening down at the stables. Elrond cursed softly to himself and rose from his chair. He needed a walk, anyway.

'Good boy, Asfaloth, good boy.' Glorfindel choked nervously. The white horse had him pinned against the stable wall. He wondered just how many ribs the horse had cracked. The stable-elves were standing uselessly on the other side of the door, waiting patiently for Glorfindel's next vacation to Mandos.

'Are you okay there, Glorfindel, sir?' One of them ventured. 

'Yes, yes… I'm fine. He gets like this sometimes. Very temperamental.' Glorfindel said hoarsely. Snap. There went another one.

'Well, if you sure about that, sir.' The elf said doubtfully. 'You're looking quite… uncomfortable.' He continued.

'No, no, I can deal with my own horse.' He pushed the horse's shoulder, to no great effect. Asfaloth leaned even more to one side. Glorfindel's side.

'Glorfindel?'

'I can cope! Do you have nothing else to attend to?' The elf growled. Snap-Snap-Snap. Did he have that many ribs?

'Yes, I have many things to attend to. Would you rather I did those than try to save you from your own pride and stupidity?' Elrond asked.

'Actually, Elrond, you'd be saving me from my own horse. Though I do take pride in having a horse such as Asfaloth, and he is stupid, it would be easier to say horse.' Glorfindel said, his voice clipped. Asfaloth sighed loudly and collapsed completely onto the wall, and Glorfindel. 

'I was referring to your disposition, not that of Asfaloth.' Elrond remarked, ignoring the other elf's cries of agony. Though Glorfindel was an amazingly 'merry elf', to the point of suspicion at times, he could be rather cantankerous when he needed help. Elrond had heard Glorfindel was the first elf to be kicked out of The Halls of Mandos because he wouldn't stop complaining that it was Thorondor's fault he died; he had been managing perfectly all right with that balrog without help. Thorondor had provoked it. No one dared mention to Glorfindel that he had been waving a sword at the creature's ankles at the time. 

'I see.' Glorfindel choked again. Much to his disgust, he saw Elrond open the stable door and shoo in some of the elves. They moved timidly around the stable, slipping a halter over the horse's head and leading him away from his master. Glorfindel frowned at Elrond from the other side of the stable. 'I can contend with my own horse!'

Elrond laughed, 'Of course you can.' He glanced over his fellow lord, 'Are you hurt?'

'No.' Glorfindel pouted. Snap. Slightly belated, he noted, but that was the last one. Elrond raised an eyebrow at him.

'Glorfindel? You are su—' 

'Yes! I'm sure.' Glorfindel grimaced. He gently poked at his ribs. Strangely, they seemed to be intact.

'—re.' Elrond said, and then with sudden inspiration, 'Move away from the wall.' 

'Sorry?' Glorfindel looked up from his possibly unbroken bones.

'The wall. Move away from it.' Elrond flapped his hands at the wall and Glorfindel; his seemingly endless sleeves waved like banners and scared the horses in nearby stalls. Glorfindel did as he was told, though very slowly, worried that should he move too quickly he would shatter. From the wall behind him there came a rough scrape as something slid from it's original place, followed by many hollow sounding 'thunk's. 

'Oh.' Glorfindel said simply, as the final lump of wood slipped from its perch and landed on top of the others.

'It was the wood, not you.' Elrond reassured him. Glorfindel still kept his arms wrapped around his body. Elrond sighed. 'Take yourself to the healers if you want proof, but when they cast you away come back and report to me. I have a favour to ask.' 

'Yes.' Glorfindel murmured, and walked very slowly, arms still clutched round his sides, out of the stable and in the direction of the healers. 

When he was out of sight Elrond started on the walk back to his chambers. He took the route that lead around the outside of the house, the weather was perfect, as usual, and it felt good to be free of the confines of those walls. So good in fact, he felt like singing. Taking a deep breath he sang. Rather than any set song, he sang the first words that came to his mind…

Glorfindel had staggered half way to the Healers when Elrond's voice, lifted in song, drifted from the gardens directly to his pointy-ears. Immediately he let go of his sides and resumed his proud stature, listening for a moment longer before doubling-back down the hallway and running to Elrond's chambers. 

The Swear Box was in there. 

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	2. Wine and sparkly objects

Disclaimer: After reading countless thousands of these disclaimer thingees, and not one of them admitting to the ownership of LotR, I have decided that LotR must be a terrible thing indeed. Therefore I am in no way associating myself with this devilry, and if anyone asks, I didn't write this. I've never heard of LotR. What is LotR? 

Thank you to all of my reviewers! Your comments are very much appreciated. I wrote another chapter especially for you (awh bless). I had no plans to continue this, but you made me. Darnit. Sorry it's not as good as the last one. Continuations are something that happens to other people (once again, this is not true to LotR, or anything else of Tolkien's, I don't think. Don't say I didn't warn you; I have Tolkien-purist-repellent spray). ^.^

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'Lord Thranduil?' 

'Come in.' Thranduil murmured. He did not look away from the glass that spun slowly in his fingertips, watching the red liquid it contained glister in the candlelight. Thranduil admired the way it shone and sparkled; more beautiful than all the jewels he owned, more beautiful than any gem within this realm or those surrounding it, more beautiful than anything in living memory (and by Elbereth, was that a long time). His first love. Wine.

The other elves may have had many laughs at Thranduil's, and his peoples, expense. But then, they did not appreciate the simple beauty and enlightenment that came with wine and sparkly things. Always they sought for something larger, something more important, something that involved the word Doom. No, Thranduil had his own four-letter word that summed up existence and purpose. Wine. He took another sip from the glass. The fate of Middle Earth, did it really matter? After all, a few thousand years and the elves would be away on that 'Go Really Fast Boat' of Círdan's. 

The wooden door creaked as it opened to reveal his dark-haired butler. Thranduil idly removed his gaze from the glass, though he did not remove his feet from the desk. An eyebrow arched slightly, just enough to be questioning. 'Mmm?'

Galion cleared his throat; 'You have received tidings from Riven---' 

The glass slid from Thranduil's grip, shattering on the floor. 

Galion startled, 'My Lord? Are you feeling well?' Thranduil urgently scrabbled to sit up straight in his chair, his already pale complexion had turned almost translucent, his eyes stared wildly at the envelope in his butler's hand. 'Lord Thranduil?' 

'No… please no…' Thranduil whimpered, his knuckles turned white as he grasped the arms of his chair.

'My Lord?' Galion said softly, as if coaxing a frightened rabbit. He had never known Thranduil to react so strangely. Or at least, he had never known Thranduil to react so strangely when he was sober; there was no accounting for his reactions when he wasn't. 'What is it my Lord?' he asked again, stepping forward. Thranduil let out a cry and scuttled backwards out of his chair, pinning himself against the wall.

'Come no closer!' He cried, pointing at the envelope Galion held.

'The… envelope?' Galion muttered to himself, his eyebrows knitted with confusion. Cautiously he inspected the letter, lifting the edge of the envelope so as he could see inside it. No, nothing. He looked back to his terrified King. 'My King, Lord Elrond would not send you anything offensive?' 

Thranduil did not respond. Still he stared wildly at the envelope. Galion sighed wearily. He hated to do this to his king, especially when he was sober, but sometimes he was left with very few options. He lifted the letter up to the light. 'Look, my King, it sparkles in the light.' He moved the paper around slowly, to make sure Thranduil saw it glitter. 

Thranduil relaxed slightly at the sight of the reassuring sparkle. His breathing slowed and he stopped trying to dig his way through the wall with his shoulder blades. Galion smiled and held the envelope out to the Elvenking. Reluctantly, Thranduil walked over to his butler, and removed the paper from his hands.

'The stationery of Imladris always shines.' Thranduil said softly, his voice no more than a whisper as he gazed sadly at the envelope. He took a deep breath and continued with a stronger voice, 'But it is a trick. Elrond knows us to be fond of things that sparkle. He will lure us with his shiny stationery, but within - ' He shook the envelope beneath his butler's nose '- within lies a herald of _Doom_!'

'Elbereth…' Galion whispered, 'I thought Lord Elrond saved that word for special occasions?' He watched as Thranduil timidly opened the envelope.

'No, Galion, times have changed.' The Elvenking muttered as he unfolded the letter with shaking hands, the envelope falling forgotten to the floor. He lifted top edge of the parchment; the words revealing themselves slowly as the shadows fled for shelter beneath the fold in the paper. Suddenly Galion leapt backwards with a cry of terror.

There it was, in terrible black letters, domineering over the other notes on the paper: The Great Tyrant of Words. 

****

DOOM

'Elrond Peredhil grows weak.' Thranduil said gravely, unable to hide the despair he felt. 

Galion did not reply. He stood shaking; his gaze fixed on The Word, unable to move it elsewhere lest The Word should come to pass and all would fall to darkness. Already the world was growing dimmer, Thranduil's voice further away, and The Word before him the only truth. He battled to look upon something else, yet he could not divert his eyes. The Word held him within its poison talons, all faded to darkness…

And then he beheld the floor.

***

__

The world had changed.

He felt it in the water.

He felt it in the earth.

It was ringing through the air.

'YOU - YOU - YOU---!!' Elrond screeched as he paced back and forth across his room in a flurry of burgundy robes.

'Pathetic excuse of an elf?' Glorfindel volunteered, glumly watching his friend pace the room. What had the world come to when Elrond Peredhil_, Peredhil, _half-elven, without even the decency of being a real elf, could charge around ordering far superior-yet-overlooked elves, full _elves_, that glowed in the dark, had super pointy-ears and everything, to do chores for him, then scold them for doing so? Glorfindel drummed his fingers on the desk. A lot had changed since his day.

'You sent Thranduil the wrong invite!' Elrond whined, anger giving way to sorrow. He collapsed into the chair opposite Glorfindel's, his arms folded on the table. Glorfindel smiled sympathetically.

'I am sure he will understand, Elrond. Has he not made enough mistakes of his own in the past? It may bring him closer to you, knowing you are only of elf-kind, and can make mistakes as well as he can.' Glorfindel assured him.

'I didn't make the mistake though, did I, Glorfindel?' Elrond's grey eyes fixing on the blond elf, accusing him of all the evils in the world. Glorfindel cowered. 'It was you, wasn't it? Glorfindel?' 

'Well… maybe.' Glorfindel mumbled, refusing to admit to anything should it break his pride.

'Thranduil will not be impressed.' Elrond sighed, 'Do you know what I wrote on that invite?' he said wearily, his shoulders slumped with resignation.

'No, but I feel if I did you would not be best pleased with my reaction.' Glorfindel risked a smile, glancing across to the over-flowing Swear Box, and back to Elrond. The elf-lord's chambers were nearly empty of decorations, save the Swear Box, which glittered happily in a corner. Elrond himself was in a sorry state, with nothing to hold his hair away from his face, no crown on his brow. Everything had been thrown into the Swear Box.

'Yes, yes, you're right. I shouldn't tell you. I have nothing left for that… that Box.' Elrond said bitterly. Throwing a glare at the Box, and then at Glorfindel, who was now grinning smugly to himself.

'So you admit it, then?' The elf continued to grin.

'Admit it?' Elrond frowned, knowing full well what he had just admitted to, yet he was not ready to admit that he had admitted it. 

'You said - no - wrote it?' Glorfindel grinned more broadly. Elrond bit back a curse. Glorfindel had caught him again.

'What, may I ask, is "it"?' He asked innocently.

'Usually a two letter word, my Lord, but in this case, it has four.' Glorfindel stifled a triumphant laugh. Elrond rolled his eyes. It wasn't often Glorfindel referred to him as his lord, the noldo tending to see himself as being above every other elf in the entire of Imladris, or more likely, Middle Earth. Well, he could play games as well as Glorfindel…

'Four letters?' 

'Yes, my Lord.' Glorfindel still did not wipe the bordering-on-unnatural grin off his face.

'First letter?'

'Sorry?' The grin disappeared.

'First letter! Guess it.' Elrond stole the grin for his own.

'Well, er…' Glorfindel stumbled over his words, 'that would be D? Wouldn't it?' His expression was now one of complete confusion.

'Hm-hmm. Correct. Second letter?' Elrond smiled cruelly.

'O.' 

'Wrong!' Elrond laughed, and pulled a piece of parchment across the desk to him. Without much thought, he drew vertical a line on the paper. He turned back to the other elf. 'Guess again.'

'What -?' Glorfindel shook his head in confusion. 'It must be O, there is no other way of spelling it.'

'Really? I thought O didn't come into "it"'. Elrond chuckled. Glorfindel frowned disapprovingly.

'Elrond, really, I thought you would have grown out of such immature games at your a-'

'Guess!' Elrond pestered.

Glorfindel pouted. 'Elrond, you can only spell Doom with an O. It is spelt phonetically, D-O-O-M. You cannot spell it any other way, it would become a different word.' Glorfindel prepared himself for a discussion on the spelling of the word Doom, but instead, and to his disappointment, Elrond burst into fits of laughter. 'Now what…?'

The elf-lord made no reply, except of course, to giggle ridiculously. He stood and took the Swear Box from the corner of his room, and carried it over to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel sighed. Well, at least Elrond had forgotten the invite incident for now. He slid a ring from his finger and dropped it into the Swear Box. 'Elrond, I believe you have been at the wine.' He said thoughtfully.

'Yes. Thranduil and I aren't so different, after all.' Elrond mused; taking Glorfindel's ring from the Box, casting a critical eye over it, and dropping it back in again. 'Or at least, I think we aren't. I'm not so sure if we'll ever find out now.' He smirked, watching as guilt ate his old friend. 'You said Do - _that_ word twice, if you remember.' He stated matter-of-factly. Glorfindel looked as if he was about to argue, but then he shrugged.

'At least I didn't sing it.'

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	3. The Great Imladris Escape

Disclaimer: I have lawsuit repellent spray. Don't make me use it. 

Long and rambling chapter that is even weirder and makes less sense than the last. Thanks for reading, and thanks again everyone who's reviewed ^.^ 

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Galion grunted. Very slowly the world came back into focus, or more likely, the shadows carried the essence of realness that made him aware that he was staring at a floor.

'Mae govannen.' A very displeased voice told him. Galion shifted and struggled to sit up. 'Sleep well?' Thranduil asked in a bittersweet tone, glaring at his butler from behind his desk.

'My apologies, my Lord.' Galion muttered, peering blearily around the room in search of some clue as to what had caused him to faint. 'What - what happened, my Lord?' 

'Oh, it would appear the handwriting of Master Elrond is a truly terrible thing.' Thranduil replied. He poured a glass of wine and pushed it across the desk. Galion stood carefully and shuffled across to it.

'Handwriting?' He asked as he lifted the glass, stared at it confusedly for a moment, then downed it.

'Yes…' Thranduil dragged the word out with an unusual mix of uncertainty and disapproval. 'I was rather hoping you would explain.' He paused, watching the wine swirling in the glass he held. 'But never mind that for a moment, I'm sure you will tell all later. For now there are more important matters than your phobia.'

'Very well, my King.' Galion sat patiently, waiting for Thranduil to continue. It was strange set-up he and Thranduil tolerated. Unlike Elrond, who had too many advisors, Thranduil had none, and so had to contemplate the most important issues of Mirkwood's existence with his butler. Galion had once tried to introduce Thranduil to the idea of talking with his son, who was considered to be more qualified for the job. Unfortunately when Galion approached Legolas with this notion, the prince had nearly suffered a facial expression. Galion immediately discarded his idea, and burnt all evidence he had tried. 

'While you were unconscious I re-read Elrond's letter-'

'Well done, my Lord.' 

Thranduil threw a sharp glare at his butler, 'I sense a great unease has fallen upon Rivendell. I believe that Elrond was trying to warn us of something. Unfortunately, he did not finish writing the letter, maybe due to some emergency? In his haste, and desperation for help, he scribbled 'Doom' across all he had previously written, in much the same way as one would write 'Help'.'

'If he were in that much danger he would not have found anyone to send his letter.' The butler remarked.

'He may have come back to it afterwards.' The Elvenking said, a little doubtfully.

'It would have been irrelevant then.'

Thranduil paused uncomfortably. 'I hear initiative is a big thing in Imladris.' 

'Maybe, but that's not what I heard, my Lord.'

'Be quiet, Galion.' Thranduil mumbled indignantly. 'I believe that Elrond is asking for help. We should answer his plea.'

Galion's brows furrowed, a sign that he was paddling in something that could yet become a deep thought. 'In what form, my Lord? I feel that if your concerns are true he will require more than our resources can offer…'

~

He could take it no more. If he heard that word ever again it would be too soon. That was quite a thought for an immortal mind. The Swear Box was loosing its effect on Elrond. Worse, the 'Doom' habit was spreading; frequently had he heard it uttered. All were whispering it, for it had to be said, but not too loudly. Say it too loudly and there was a price. He had to leave, and quickly.

'Just where do you think you're sneaking off to?' Elbereth.

'I'm not sneaking anywhere.' 

'Why then are you hiding behind the banister, clad entirely in black, jumping at the slightest sound, and generally giving the appearance of one who is sneaking?'

'I am not sneaking.' He peered over the top of the banister; a familiar pair of grey eyes stared back.

'If that is so, I am very much impressed by your artistic interpretation of one who sneaks.'

'Good, now be gone with you.'

'Tsk-tsk-tsk, that is no way to speak to your brother.'

'Nor is sneaking up on your brother and accusing him of sneaking any way to treat your brother.'

'Maybe your brother was not sneaking, he was in fact innocently following his brother wondering just what in Luthien's name he was up to?'

Elrohir sighed. 'Elladan, I am not sneaking, nor am I up to anything.'

'Mock me more; it's funny.' Elladan scowled, folding his arms across his chest.

'If you must know, I am leaving.' 

'Leaving?' Elladan echoed; his arms dropped back to his sides.

'I can't take it anymore, Imladris has changed, everyone is so secretive. Ada has been acting strangely, Glorfindel even stranger, even Erestor has been acting peculiarly -'

'Don't forget Lindir.' 

Elrohir sniggered. 'I wish I could.' 

Elladan laughed. 'So, where are you going to go to?' The elder asked, not bothering to deter Elrohir, or ask him any more reasons for his departure. Elladan had a pretty good idea already; it was same reason he wasn't the merriest of elves anymore. 

'Good question.' Elrohir pondered. He hadn't thought about where to, only where from. Elladan was better at deciding destinations than him, 'Don't suppose you want to leave as well, do you?'

Elladan shrugged lazily. 'Will it involve avenging mothers torture and recklessly murdering orcs?' Elrohir nodded. 

'If you want.'

'I'll go get my stuff.' Elladan grinned, and ran back up the stairs. Elrohir watched him until he was out of sight, and then set off to the stables. Elladan's ability to make quick decisions was the stuff of legend. The drawback being he would probably change his mind again when they were lost somewhere between the Misty Mountains and the Carrock; and if he insisted that 'Thranduil's all right as far as obsessive Elvenkings go, he'll let us stay in Mirkwood for a while, eh?' again… Elrohir shuddered. It didn't bear thinking about. Last time they were forced to hand over any shiny objects they owned at the gates, and some random thing kept shooting arrows at them. It was the Kinslaying all over again, on a more exclusive scale. 

~

Asfaloth yawned in the face of a most momentous decision. Whether to start with his hay, or to dig around his bed for renegade bits of breakfast. He slurped up a long drink of water, which tasted a little like breakfast and hay mixed up together; the stable elves had already changed his water twice that morning, but he only needed a minute to make an interesting soup out of it again. Once his thirst was quenched, he looked out over his stable door, as is tradition with all of equine-kind, and let much slobbery water and hay soup drip heavily onto the young elf sweeping up outside of his stable. A cry of 'EURGH! Asfaloth!' echoed throughout the stables, and Asfaloth was satisfied that he had made one elf's morning rather uncomfortable and cringe-worthy. He turned around and buried his nose in the straw. Renegade breakfast bits it was.

~

Galion pulled his cloak closer around him, the weather revealing a taste of the winter that rapidly approached them. Fallen leaves crunched underfoot, and were whisked about in the air overhead. Though the cold weather was not the first thing on his mind. It was the task Thranduil had set him that weighed heavily on his thoughts. 

He had sworn an oath many years ago that he would do whatever the Elvenking asked of him. But back then, he had not realised that that oath also covered hunting for Thranduil's son in the cold and dark, when he could have been anywhere in the woods. Also chances were if Galion did find Legolas, the lad would put an arrow through him first and ask questions later. Admittedly, he had survived his previous encounters with the prince of Mirkwood, but only just. It was a well-known fact that the King had requested mithril-plated earmuffs for his butler after the 'new advisor' incident. 

'Legolas?' Galion called timidly into the shadows, then ducked rapidly. When he realised no arrows had embedded themselves uncomfortably in his person, he gingerly stood back up again, and walked on. 

The day was slowly failing, and already Galion could see the faint glow of the lanterns of the Elvenhalls. If he didn't find Thranduil's son soon, he decided, he would make his way back and tell the King the prince was away lighting fires and putting them out again, and generally annoying those of a shorter stature than himself. Galion scowled at the ground, kicking at an unsuspecting leaf as is brushed by. He had never done that when he was three thousand. Well, except for the annoying dwarves bit; that was the whole point of being an elf, and the reason for dwarves existence. But still, elves now were an unruly bunch of demi-pyromaniacs, far more unruly than he ever -

__

Twang!

Galion dropped to the ground with a cry of 'ARGH!', covering his head with his arms. He lay there for a while, slowly sinking into the mud and silently praying that the other would take pity on him. He heard no one approach him, but that meant little. He would have to see for himself if was Him. He mustered what little courage he had left to look up from the ground: it was as he feared.

'Galion?' Even through mithril earmuffs, the voice definitely belonged to the prince of Mirkwood. 

'Don't hurt me!' Galion pleaded, looking back to the ground and staring determinedly at the mud.

'What are you doing out here? Did Ada send you?' Legolas demanded.

'I'lltalk! Don'thurtme!' Galion squeaked. 

'Talk then!'

'I'mtalkingI'mtalking!' Galion blurted, then calming himself slightly, 'Lord Thranduil sent me to fetch you! It was his idea!'

'What does he want me for?' 

Galion blinked, and risked looking away from the ground. 'He has something he wishes to ask of you.'

'What would that be?' Legolas said sharply. 'And for Luthien's sake, stand up.'

Galion obeyed, although reluctantly. He realised that when he stood up, he would be covered in mud. Well, it beat being dead, he supposed. 'I can't tell you here, Thranduil wants to tell you himself.'

'I see. He want's me to see him now, I take it?' Galion nodded. Legolas, not bothering with the formalities of dismissing the other, trudged down the path, back home.

Galion breathed a sigh of relief, and thanked Elbereth he had survived another encounter. Pulling his cloak back around his shoulders, he trailed across to the tree Legolas had viciously attacked in lieu of him. Inspecting the arrow, he couldn't help but notice the inscription down the side of it. 'Galion'. The butler sighed and pulled the arrow out of the bark. Legolas had had that arrow since he was old enough to aim a bow at Galion's knees; it would be a shame to see it rot on the side of tree after all these years. 

~

In a semicircle they sat, the faint splashing of water the only break in their silence, the smell of soap hanging thickly in the air. They had spent many years trying to train horses to obey commands without a bridle or saddle, but to no avail. The power of the elves was not so much they could avoid tack cleaning. One of the elves sighed heavily. One fought to clean the green stain of grass from the edges of one horses bit. One simply stared blankly into the middle-distance. The last searching for a cloth lost for the third time that half-hour. The tap at the door went almost unnoticed in the thick layer of apathy.

'Come in.' The one searching for the misplaced cloth muttered. The door opened a bit, just enough for one to look through without letting too much of the cloying soapy smell cling to their clothes or hair, and also left the other side of the door conveniently shadowy.

'I'll just stand here. Can someone pass me Asfaloth's tack, please?' An apparently male voice called through the door. The stable elves exchanged glances. The one closest to the door shrugged, took Asfaloth's saddle from the rack, and handed it through the gap; the figure on the other side sinking back into the shadows before the elf caught a look at who it was.

'Th-uh, Thank you.' The voice faltered. The stable elves exchanged glances again.

'Your welcome… sir?' The elf said doubtfully. The figure scurried off down the row of stalls.

'Glorfindel's acting strangely lately, isn't he?' The elf cleaning the bit remarked.

'Very strangely. First that box thing, now this. You know, I'm not entirely sure Glorfindel is Glorfindel anymore' The one at the door mumbled, watching the entity disappear into Asfaloth's stable. 

'I don't think any Glorfindel's not Glorfindel. Especially not the box one, he knew all about Gondolin.' The one searching for the cloth said thoughtfully, 'I just don't think that Glorfindel was the real Glorfindel.'

The elf by the door shrugged and sat back down again. 'If it wasn't we'll soon find out. Asfaloth doesn't take kindly to intruders.' 

There was a faint murmur of agreement, and the bored silence resumed. 

--------------------------------------


	4. The Flight of Erestors Socks

Disclaimer: It would be quicker to give you an inventory of the things I do own, rather than explain how little of LotR belongs to me.

Sorry it took so long; Writers Block of Ultimate Doom. I'll try make the next chapter funnier, just had to tie up a few loose ends :) thanks.

------

Amidst the trees deep in the valley of Rhudaur, The House of Elrond gently stirred from its dreams. Heavy rays of light softly brushing past it, a warm reminder that now would be a good time to wake up. The inhabitants resigned to this fate, and blinked themselves back into a state of awareness. Though, remaining so was a difficult task, so difficult many of them drifted back to sleep, listening to the delicate trill of the dawn chorus.

'WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?!'

'WHERE'S MY HORSE?!'

'WHERE ARE MY SOCKS?!'

Scattered across acres, as one the inhabitants of Imladris woke suddenly and stared in stunned silence at their ceilings, many wondering just why anyone would announce loosing their socks so loudly.

Elrond paced the hallways with no regard for elven grace. If he walked past an elf's room, the elf inside knew of it. As did those down the corridor. 

Glorfindel stormed through the stables, the stable elves had evacuated themselves from his presence. If he made toast of a balrog, they dreaded to think of what fate he would think up for them.

Erestor sat on the edge of his bed, scowling at his sock drawer. They were gone; his socks had left him. Or someone had stolen them. But how? No one broke into Erestor's room without him knowing about it, especially not to steal his socks. He growled, stood up, and stalked out of his room.

~

'Lembas?'

'Check.'

'Miruvor?'

'Check.'

'Carrots?'

'Ch- Carrots?'

'For the horses.' Elrohir said, welcoming the pause in the stream of supplies Elladan was handing to him. 

'Right.' Elladan nodded and rummaged through the pile of travelling necessities, 'Check.'

Elrohir dutifully took the carrots and stuffed them into the bag. 'So, where are we going this time?' he yawned. They had meant to set off their big adventure last night, but unfortunately Elrond had caught them and sent them to the Hall of Fire, in order for them to be sociable instead. Quite why Elrond had decided to throw a party for no apparent reason was undetermined, and so very few turned up just in case he started ranting about the end of the world again, and the rest didn't show themselves due to Lindir's singing. All in all it was a very boring night, sitting around the fire with Glorfindel and Erestor, throwing grapes at Lindir every time he threatened to sing, and then randomly throwing grapes at Lindir just because he was Lindir and they could throw grapes at him.

'Check.' Elladan's monotonous morning voice responded before he had the chance to register what his brother had said. 

Elrohir sighed and pushed Elladan's arm. 'Wake up, 'Dan. I said where are we going, not pass the Lórien identity.' He took the brooches anyway; they were useful for evading the Lothlórien dress code. 

'How about Rohan? We never go there.' Elladan volunteered.

'Rohans no fun, too many ponies. Gondor, maybe?'

Elladan shuddered, 'Gondor? Aren't you sick of that place?'

'I've never been there.' Elrohir pouted as he attempted to put all his weight onto the luggage in hope that that might make it close.

'I know, but you suffered Estel's "Gondor this, Gondor that!" for years.' Elladan watched the bag closely; waiting for the second it closed just enough to be fastened.

'All the more reason to go! You can't talk ceaselessly about somewhere for twenty years unless it's something special.' The bag grudgingly fell beneath Elrohir's weight.

Elladan pounced, 'It wasn't… twenty years… it was… curses… less than that…' he somehow managed to fix the straps around the protesting luggage, 'it only felt like twenty years.' He said, with a hint of pride.

'Fine.' Elrohir jumped backwards as the luggage spontaneously leapt at him. He quickly bundled it into his arms and tied it, with great difficulty, onto the back of his horse's saddle. 'I guess its Mirkwood again?'

'How about Lórien? We haven't seen the old folks in a while.' 

'We haven't seen Círdan in even longer.' Elrohir remarked.

'If we go to the Havens we'll never be seen again, you know Círdan's out to rid Middle Earth of elves, he just hides behind the disguise of that "Go Really Fast Boat".'

'No one has confirmed that! He might be innocent. Or misguided.' Elrohir scowled. Always the great believer in justice for all.

'How about we just wander aimlessly?'

'And if anyone asks?'

'We're wandering aimlessly.'

Elrohir seemed to think over this for a while. 'Sounds good.' He said thoughtfully, before hopping lightly onto his horses back. Elladan smiled proudly at himself and his ingeniousness before he followed his brothers example and deftly leapt onto his own horse, resisting the urge to take a run up and swing himself onto the beast from the wrong side. Ai, that Mirkwood pretty-boy had no chance come next Imladris Sports Event. 

Like shadows on a grey morning they escaped the valley, not that it was particularly difficult. All the elves appeared to be hidden away, though why Elrohir and Elladan couldn't determine, and when they did try to figure it out it merely turned into a match of who-can-insult-the-other-more. A difficult challenge when insulting someone who is all but your own reflection.

~

Three doors crashed open, three enraged elf-lords stormed into the hall, and in absence of innocent bystanders, three glares immediately latched onto each other. 

'GLORFINDEL! Where is my daughter?!'

'ELROND! Where is my horse?!'

'ELBERETH! The floors cold!'

The mood was shattered as one of the proud elves suddenly took up a hobbit-like jig.

'Erestor, you're a fool.' Glorfindel remarked, throwing a scathing glare at his fellow advisor. 

'That's forward coming from you, isn't it? Loosing your horse?' Elrond fumed.

'At least I haven't lost any of my offspring lately.' Glorfindel growled.

'Look who's the fool now; you don't have any children.' Erestor grumbled, his dance slowing down as he acclimatised to the stone floor. 

'But I have socks.' Glorfindel said with spiteful smugness. 

'But my horse doesn't try to murder me every given chance.' 

'But my socks stay where I put them.'

'But my horse stays where I put h-.'

'That's enough!' Elrond cried, frantically waving his arms at his sides like an elf-child. 'Here we Dooming are, surrounded by the beginnings of an ultimate Doom, faced by our Doom, and all is coming to darkness, Doom, and destruction, and all you two can think of is your Dooming horses and socks!'

'Elrond! Calm yourself, five times in same sentence is not good for your reputation!' Glorfindel tried to soften his voice slightly, glancing around the hall fretfully. To his relief, Erestor had been the only witness to Elrond's sudden madness. 

'Calm myself? Calm myself!' He shrieked, 'My daughter has gone missing, and you want me to calm myself?'

'That's the general idea, yes.' Glorfindel affirmed.

'I can't calm myself, Glorfindel! My daughter has gone missing, I have no idea where she might be, she's just gone, left me! Like her mother, she's just left me!'

'But didn't you throw a party when Celebrian left?' Erestor said thoughtfully.

'Celebrian wanted Rivendell to celebrate her departure!'

'I don't think she meant for it to be celebrated like that.' Glorfindel said quietly.

'And I think she wanted her departure to be celebrated before she left, rather than three seconds after she crossed the bridge.' Erestor added.

Elrond frowned, 'Yes well, Celebrian was different!' 

'Is different, Elrond, Is. She still awaits you in the West.' Glorfindel grinned cruelly. 

Elrond shuddered. 'Nevertheless, we aren't talking about Celebrian; Arwen is missing, and she might be in danger!'

Glorfindel sighed, 'Have you looked for her everywhere?'

'Yes!'

'Have you asked anyone else to look for her?' Glorfindel continued.

'Of course!'

Glorfindel nodded in acknowledgement, his golden brows knitted in thought. Arwen, Asfaloth, and Erestor's socks. They all went missing last night, and seemingly together, but when exactly? In the Hall? While they slept? Or early in the morning? And how? How could anyone sneak those three out of Imladris without help? And why? Who would steal a whiney elf-princess, a homicidal horse, and Erestor's socks? Glorfindel's mind ticked over all possibilities, not that it took long. How many possibilities could there be?

'Three.' 

'What was that, Glorfindel?' Erestor asked, turning his attention away from Elrond, who was pacing the hall.

'Three.' He whispered again.

'Three?' Erestor repeated, looking increasingly worried. He had always assumed Elrond wasn't all there, the lord had good reason. But Glorfindel? He had always seemed so… Erestor paused that thought. Stubborn, arrogant, undead, narcissistic, blond: no, Glorfindel was far from normal. 

'Yes! Three!' He cried, his eyes unglazed to reveal a sudden flame of inspiration. 'I think I understand!' 

'That's… good.' 

'It all fits!' He grinned.

'Right there in between two and four.' 

Glorfindel frowned at his fellow advisor. 'You're a fool, Erestor. But, three! Everything is happening in threes! Arwen, Asfaloth, your socks - three things taken from us three! Us three, the three most important elves in Rivendell, our three most prized possessions!'

'My socks aren't exactly my most prized possession, and I don't think Arwen would take kindly to being seen as a 'possession'.'

'All right, the three things most important to us!'

'The sock thing, again.' An eyebrow raised. Erestor obviously had been a student of Elrond's School of Eyebrow Raising, and at some point in his training had surpassed the master. It very nearly merged into his hairline.

'Regardless, I think I understand what's going on!'

'How so?'

'I'm not sure yet, but I will understand. Let me think some more.' Glorfindel mumbled and slowly wandered across the hall, arms folded with one hand raised to his chin, his eyes set on the ground.

Erestor shook his head wearily and directed his attention back to his lord, who had apparently been eavesdropping on his and Glorfindels conversation.

'Three?' Elrond asked, tilting his head slightly to one side.

'I don't understand, either, my Lord. I think our friend is a little confused.' Erestor shrugged.

'He probably just misses his horse.' Elrond said nonchalantly, as he too made his way out of the hall. Erestor nodded in agreement, Elrond was probably right. Glorfindel missed his horse, Elrond missed his daughter, and Elbereth, did Erestor miss his socks. The floors of Imladris were cold. So very cold.

~ 

By now, an ordinary butler would have been dozing in a corner as his lord repeated information he had already heard to another, but Galion was no ordinary butler. He listened to every word. If butlers needed kings, Galion would have been the Butlerking. He was the butler to end all butlers. A Galion by any other name would be as butlerish. No word his lord spoke escaped him.

'… and that is why I want you to go, son.' Thranduil confirmed. Galion clicked his tongue irritably. He missed the reason, again. 

The prince sat for a moment in thought, not yet ready to settle anything. 'Why aren't you going?' Legolas asked eventually. 'Would you not be of greater use to him?'

Thranduil sighed heavily. 'Elrond's land has been taken by something, some creature, some force; he sent to me this plea for help - ' He dropped the paper onto the desk before Legolas, the prince glanced cautiously up at his father, '- We must answer, but we must keep our own defences strong. Mirkwood will need its king before the end, lest it will fall as Imladris has. That is why, I am asking you to go to Rivendell for me. You are the best help I can offer, second only to myself.' He said, his voice low and authoritative. 

Both Thranduil and Galion watched Legolas closely as he unfolded the parchment, waiting for the prince's reaction. 

He blinked. 

'Will you go to him, Legolas?' Thranduil asked softly, his voice barely cutting through the silence.

The prince inhaled deeply, and shut his eyes against the world for a moment before responding. 'I must.' He said gravely, and looked back up to his father. Thranduil's mouth twitched into a proud smile.

'Thank you.' He clapped a hand onto his son's shoulder.

'It is my pleasure, and my duty.' Legolas nodded, and clapped a hand onto his father's shoulder; an agreement sealed.

Galion grinned proudly, and hugged the papers he carried to his chest. For the first time in years, Thranduil was ruling Mirkwood like the king he was, with Legolas at his side. For the first time in many years, the royalty of Mirkwood had come to a decision on their own, for the first time in years, Galion hadn't had to push them in the right direction.

'Well done, my lords.' He whispered softly, and scuttled out of the room to deliver Thranduil's letters.

~

Well that was rude. No breakfast. Why did no one bring him breakfast? He pawed the ground irritably. He wanted breakfast, and by Nahar if he didn't get breakfast soon…

'NEEEEEEEEEH!!'

The cry echoed through the valley, just as it did every morning. Only, this time, Master wasn't there to hear it.

----


	5. Galadriel Speaks and Erestor Knits

Legolas was thinking. Not that this was any great or rare occurrence. No, the prince enjoyed thinking and did so quite often. But just now, he was considering his future.

The elf of Rivendell was a greater elf than himself, and Legolas felt that his appearing on the lord's doorstep would be almost an insult. Even through these treacherous times, his wisdom and experience would guide him through unscathed. He would restore Imladris's glory, and just in time for Legolas to turn up on his doorstep as Mirkwood's challenge to his ability. Sacrifice, more like.

No, he wouldn't let that happen. He would not see Mirkwood fall to Imladris. He squared his jaw, and fisted his hands, letting his misgivings dissolve into a wave of resolution.

He'd show Elladan just who was more inventive.

~ 

Thranduil watched as Legolas swung himself in a most fascinating fashion onto the horse's back. Without any visible encouragement, the horse sprung into a canter and took off down the old road. Thranduil folded his arms and smiled proudly, waiting until his son was out of sight. It didn't take long, as the forest was dark, even at midday, and that horse could really shift.

'M'lord?' A small voice ventured from somewhere around his elbow. He glanced down at the voice's owner, and raised his eyebrows in a regally questioning manner. 

'Yes?' 

'Is it true, you know, about Master Elrond writing… writing that word?' The young elf asked, with the innocence of only one thousand sheltered years.

'Maybe.' Thranduil said, somewhat impassively. 

'Elbereth…' The young elf whispered, and hurried off to share his amazing discovery with his friends.

Thranduil watched them for a while, before diverting his attention back into the darkness that was Mirkwood. For all Mirkwood's disadvantages, Thranduil always thanked that the forest was possibly the biggest irritant in Middle Earth. Enemies were quite welcome to set upon his halls, but only if they could get through the forest. Often he had had to send his men out to rescue the would-be assailants after they stepped off the road. He found it rather amusing. Disturbing, but amusing.

He took a deep breath of the air, and swept around back through the doors into his halls. 

~

To any passers-by, Elrond would have seemed to be glaring pensively into the gardens from his balcony in very important fashion. To those who knew him better than the passers-by, he would have been suffering.

There were many things he had been through in his life. By quite a young age he thought himself to have seen much the world could throw at him. He was wrong. There was one thing worse than all the evils in the world, one thing exclusive to him. His own personal demon.

Galadriel was probably the last woman anyone would want as a mother-in-law. For countless reasons she wasn't ideal, the magic, the power, the fact she was prettier than her daughter, but more than all those, when very little else was happening, Galadriel would settle herself before her mirror and _watch_.

__

Elrond…?

Can't hear you, sorry.

Do not lie to me Elrond. I know you can hear me.

Still can't hear you. Bad connection. 

ELROND HALFELVEN!

He flinched. _Good afternoon, Lady._

Where is Arwen? Where is my granddaughter?

Elbereth Gilthoniel, who told her?

I can hear your thoughts, Elrond. She scolded.

__

Elbereth. He scowled harder. An innocent gardener dropped his trowel. _She is away. She needed some time alone._

__

Then why do you not know where she is?

Elrond made no reply.

__

Elrond? You have lost my granddaughter, have you not? Just as you lost my Celebrian.

Celebrian decided to leave! 

__

You have no idea where Arwen went?

A thoughtful pause. 

__

… no.

I should have expected it. This time Galadriel lapsed into thoughtful silence. _Have you asked your advisors?_

Yes. They - He stopped. No, she didn't need the whole story. She might have understood what it all meant.

__

His horse, and his socks. I know, and I think you should consider Glorfindel's explanation again.

But…

No, he knows of something we do not. 

How did you know? Did he tell you? If he did… Elrond tried not to think about it. There were some things a Lady shouldn't be witness to. 

__

No, Glorfindel is innocent. This morning, Celeborn wished to check in the mirror. He wished to speak to you, but instead he discovered all was not well. He called for me, and I endured your inane ramblings whilst he sent riders to see if Arwen was near Lothlórien. When I heard Glorfindel announce his explanation to the dark-haired one that wasn't you, I investigated.

Lady?

Three. 

Lady?

Three. Speak to Glorfindel about it. He will tell you all you need to know. I could not get much out of him, he insisted I was not there.

I see. I shall ask him. Lady?

Yes, Elrond?

Insisted you weren't there?

He spoke of something about voices in his head. But do not let that trouble you, I told him to take himself to your counsellor. He will be fine by Wednesday.

Lady Galadriel?

But she was gone. Elrond shook his head, stared with suddenly unglazed eyes at the garden. The gardener wasn't anywhere to be seen. Elrond tugged self-consciously at the sleeves of his robe, and stepped back into his room. He was greeted by a maid setting a tray of tea onto his desk, who he quickly sent away again with a message for Erestor and Glorfindel.

Honestly, he thought bitterly as he picked up a new bundle of letters and thumbed through them, elves needing counsellors. What was the world coming to? Once upon a time it was enough to wave a glass of wine beneath his nose, or at most hire a ranger to smoke hobbit-weed in the same room as him. No, nowadays they needed to discuss their problems. 

He dropped the letters back onto his desk, deeming them mostly pointless notes from around Imladris, and paced his room impatiently. 

~

'So how does this make you feel?' His soft voice oozed.

Glorfindel frowned, and silently cursed Galadriel. So it wasn't just the Nenya-Vilya connection that made her capable of amazing feats of telepathy. He would have possibly taken the situation better if she had asked to invade his mind and then quietly sifted through the information she needed without disturbing him, but that was not Galadriel's wont. Instead she had marched straight into his mind and demanded him to tell her what he was thinking, and to stop copying her hairstyle. 

'It makes me feel…' He paused and looked around the room in search of emotional inspiration. None came. 'It makes me feel like I've been forced to lay on a most uncomfortable chaise and talk to you by some crazy woman Elbereth only knows how many miles away.' He growled.

'Really? And does this draw back on your childhoo - ' Lindir was cut short as Glorfindel stood up, smiled at him, and walked briskly out of the room in one swift movement. Lindir pouted. A singer they wouldn't let sing, a counsellor they wouldn't let counsel… he would have wondered if it was really worth it, had he not found life perversely amusing. 

~

Boredom is strange emotion. It can lead down so many paths. For some, it strays to apathy, for others it trails into depression; sometimes it will lead into a torrent of anger, but with the twin sons of Elrond, it lead to stones.

Elrohir was the one to found this dull game. His horse had tripped over a stone, and so when it came to the next stone, Elrohir had carefully steered around it. Finding this involved a minute amount of effort and thought, he had chosen to do it again. Seven stones later, Elladan had caught his brother steering his horse. Seizing the opportunity of very mild entertainment, he had reined his horse so it fell in step behind that of Elrohir, and then with great care and determination, steered around the stone.

~

'I know you're out there.' Galion whispered menacingly into the forest. 'Waiting…'

'Whoever are you speaking to, Galion?' The butler jumped, and snapped around to see the image of that which he feared. Except, this one was older, taller, and possibly more lethal.

'Oh, hello, my Lord.' He smiled nervously. 

Thranduil shook his head wearily, dismissing the butler's greeting. 'Have those barrels been sent back?'

'Barrels?' Galion asked lamely, since when did Thranduil take any interest in the barrels? 

'You know, those wooden things.' He made a vague gesture, which could have been taken as the shape of a barrel, or a dwarf.

'Of course, my Lord, I just wondered why you would -' Thranduil was a quite a master of warning looks 'Yes, I think they have.'

~

__

Click-click, click-click, click-click…

Elrond looked up from the parchment, and fixed his advisor with a nasty glare. 'Erestor, must you?'

'My lord, I need to replace my socks somehow.' Erestor said, and obstinately continued to knit.

Elrond silently fumed, and hid himself behind the parchment again. Galadriel had been right, Glorfindel had come up with quite a reasonable answer.

Only, it didn't make sense.

'Glorfindel, how would journeying to Lórien to seek Galadriel's counsel help when we are quite capable of contacting her here?'

'Because we cannot contact her, we have to wait for her to contact us.' Glorfindel said.

'Yes, but soon she will. Oh, she will.' The last words came through gritted teeth.

'Elrond, trust me, we must go to Lórien, there we will find the answers we need.'

Elrond dropped the paper onto his desk, and rested his elbows on the table. Not very lordly behaviour, but once a herald, always a herald. He stared questioningly at Glorfindel for a moment, but he offered no further explanation. He turned to Erestor, who just shrugged sympathetically.

'Who will watch over Imladris while we are away?' Elrond asked, desperately searching for more excuses.

'Your sons, of course.' 

'I see.' Elrond drummed his fingers on the desk. 'But surely you do not wish to see her, after all she put you through this morning?'

A frown of disapproval passed across Glorfindel's face. There were no secrets in Imladris, especially since Lindir appointed himself as 'counsellor'. 'She didn't "put me through" anything, Elrond, she just forget to ask if she could be witness to my thoughts.' 

'Still, why do you want to see her?' Elrond persisted.

'I don't! Well, I do, but I don't, but not to seem rude, I do. But I don't.' Glorfindel stumbled. 'It's you who doesn't want to see her.' He added quietly.

'I would quite like to see Lothlórien.' Erestor said cheerfully from the back of the room.

Elrond looked at his second advisor, slowly succumbing to realisation that Glorfindel's next words would be -

'Two to one! It's decided.' He grinned.

'Last time I looked, I was in charge, and not you.' Elrond said scornfully.

'Yes, but we are you're advisors, and everyone knows that advisors are the ones with power.' Glorfindel said smugly. Erestor smiled to himself, and continued to click and mouth 'knit one, purl one' to himself.

Elrond collapsed onto the desk with a groan.

~

Asfaloth sniffed experimentally at the ground. Grass. It was like breakfast. Breakfast had green things in it, and grass was all green. But he didn't like the green bits. He liked the orange bits. He stepped forward and sniffed some more. Still green. He looked up lazily, and eyed his verdant surroundings. 

He let out a disgusted snort, shook his mane with displeasure, and trotted forward with arrogant grace. He would just have to find breakfast himself.

~


End file.
